


Death of a Sugar Plum Fairy

by MyckiCade



Series: As Water Consuming the Bridge [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Family time, Fluff, Humour, M/M, sap, so much sap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:05:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiCade/pseuds/MyckiCade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first family Christmas in the Cobblepot-Gordon home, told through a series of one-shots. Mishaps, chaos, and warmth abound.</p><p>Happy Holidays, Everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MillicentCordelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillicentCordelia/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own Gotham. I am not that clever. This work is for fan enjoyment only. No infringement is intended. The music mentioned in this chapter belongs to Bing Crosby.
> 
> Author's Note: One day, I'll step out of this world, again... ^^;;;;... But, that day is not today! :)!

It was... green. Very, alarmingly green, with sharp, pointed ends sticking out at all angles. It had been propped rather precariously in the far corner of the living room, slouched over itself while simultaneously threatening to tug down the curtain it had been snagged in. And, the smell... It assaulted Jim's senses, bringing back memories of days long-passed. It had no support, no supervision. It had just been...  _Left there._ Leaning there in all of its greenness, two seconds away from destroying part of his home. Stirring up old memories.

It was already a nuisance.

“Oz?” Jim called, over the sounds of the old Bing Crosby record spinning on the turntable. The vinyl crackled and skipped, every few beats, the faint white noise adding to the wave of nostalgia swirling in his stomach.

Oswald poked his head in from the dining room, an innocent smile on his face. Had Jim not known any better, he might have got away with whatever he thought he was up to.

“Yes, James?”

Glancing over his own shoulder to raise an eyebrow at his husband, Jim jerked a thumb in the direction of that... green... eyesore. “What's that?”

A look of surprise came over Oswald's face, as he stepped further into the living room. “Well, it appears to be a Christmas tree.”

“Oh, cut the crap,” Jim replied, with no true anger in his tone. “I thought we said we weren't going to get a tree, this year? After what happened with the last one...”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “It was an  _accident,_ James. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Oz, that was a fire that would have made the  _Griswolds_ cringe.” Quite honestly, it wasn't a memory that had Jim ready to jump for joy at the thought of an encore performance, either. He  _almost_ found it in himself to feel guilty, when Oswald looked down.

“It... Well, that tree was also on the lawn, James. I didn't expect the extension cord to short out.”

Sighing, Jim rubbed his hands over his face. On the one hand... No, it really  _hadn't_ been Oswald's fault. Jim had been the one to tell him to decorate the outside of the house, but, that they weren't going to put a tree inside. What did they really need a tree for, in the first place? That had been his question. It still was, now.

“Why do we need a tree?” he asked, feeling a bit like a broken record. “We got by, just fine, without one, last year.”

Glancing back up, Oswald smiled. “Yes, but, how quickly you forget... We didn't have Selina, this time, last year...”

Ah, shit. That was the type of valid argument he'd been dreading. “Damn it.”

“Oh, tut. Every child should have a Christmas tree.” Jim glanced up, and, to his horror, he discovered – not for the first time – that there was no arguing with the happy smile on the other man's face.

Especially not when those were your own words, come back to haunt you.

“Okay,” Jim sighed, rubbing his fingertips over his eyes. “But, you couldn't have found a fake one, or something? What if she's allergic? Did you ask?”

Oswald peered into the kitchen, before slinking further into the living room. “No, I didn't ask,” he murmured, conspiratorially. “And, I'm afraid that she might not know... You see... She's never had a Christmas tree.”

That set Jim eyebrows to his hairline. “What?  _Never?_ ”

Oswald shook his head, taking a brief look toward the corner. “She told me, this afternoon, when we were passing by a vendor... She didn't ask for one, but, she looked so interested, I couldn't resist.” He paused, and sighed. “I really want her to have this, James...” He turned his eyes back toward Jim. “Please?”

Staring down at the shorter man, Jim could see how sincere Oswald's words were. It had been a long, long year with Selina. She'd fought Jim on staying with them, in the first place, but, Oswald... Somehow, he'd managed to make her come around. By the end of the summer, she was all moved in, but still coming and going as she pleased. (Long story, short, Jim still had some details to iron out, with the girl). There was no arguing, though, that she and Oswald had proven to be good influences upon one another. His once-reserved partner had become a bit more outspoken, following numerous afternoon's spent with Selina. And, Selina... While he hated to think of  _anyone_ building a better criminal, Oswald's advice was, at the very least, keeping the girl out of further trouble. They had a built a level of trust, between the two of them. They cooked, together... They listened to one another, instead of the yelling matches that Selina had with Jim, himself. Now, they'd picked out a Christmas tree, together.

How could he say 'no', to  _that?_

“All right, all right,” Jim agreed, rolling his eyes, even as he wrapped in arm around Oswald's shoulders. “You've got your damn tree.”

Oswald placed a hand against the right side of Jim's face, Jim turning his head just far enough to brush his lips against the other man's thumb. “Thank you,” Oswald replied, leaning up to kiss the corner of Jim's mouth. “She's going to love this.”

“I should hope so,” Jim teased, a little grin creeping across his lips. “Did you guys buy ornaments, today, too?”

Oswald shook his head. “No, we were waiting for you, for that.” He pulled away from Jim, then, moving back toward the kitchen.

“What for?” Jim couldn't help but ask, eyes trailing after his husband. “It's not like I'd panic over color choices.”

Pausing between the rooms, Oswald glanced back, a bright smile still on his face. “It's a family thing, James.” With that, he disappeared from sight.

Really, that shouldn't have been tugging at Jim's heartstrings, the way it was. Christ – shit – ah,  _damn it,_ those two really had him, right where it would do them the most good. It was becoming harder and harder to say no to  _anything_ they asked him about, especially when Oswald was so damned  _happy_ about something.

He was so screwed.

Throwing an accusing glare back to the green menace that had started it all, Jim pointed a finger at it. “You had better be one  _hell_ of a Christmas tree,” he warned, before turning to follow Oswald into the kitchen, subconsciously beginning to hum along with Mister Crosby.

_And, the thing that will make them ring, is the carol that you sing, right within your heart._

 


	2. Of Failures and Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever had gone wrong, he couldn't say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I wrote this, today, at work. Shhh!!

Oswald glanced from the image... And, down to the plate, before him... From the image... To the plate... He did it several times more, before finally sighing, in defeat.

"This looks _nothing_ like Pinterest advertised."

Beside him, Selina scoffed. "Well, I don't get it!" she huffed, throwing her hands to her hips, in disgust. "We bought the right icing, the right food colouring... We even bought the expensive cookie cutters!" Selina shook her head, eyeing the plate of would-be Santas, trees, and reindeer, as though they had personally offended her. "I think these people are liars."

Looking back at his tablet, Oswald nodded, in agreement. "Photoshop, surely." Closing the case, he hid the misleading pictures of beautiful, handmade sugar cookies away, before tossing the tablet onto the counter. The powdery white thumbprint he left on the case caused his nose to wrinkle. "Perfect sugar cookies _do not_ exist."

"Perfect _anything_ doesn't exist," Selina amended, arms now crossed over the chest of her icing-smearing apron. "Why did we even want to do this, again? It was stupid."

Oswald didn't have an immediate response to that, not one that would make him sound like a complete fool. He'd thought of it as another chance to bond with the young lady by his side, baking up dozens and dozens of cookies, to be arranged in fancy little papers, and packed away in snack boxes. Tagged for friends, and family (of which they were in short supply, for all of the goodies that he had imagined, but, trifles). Their perfect little decorations would serve as proof of all of the hard work that they had put into the treats, perfect dabs of frosting, exact amounts of sprinkles. And, they had certainly put in the effort, today. There were three trays worth of cookies on counter, some cooling on racks, while heaping amounts of batter chilled in the refrigerator, waiting to meet the rolling pin. Flour was sprinkled across the countertops, parchment paper sitting in wait, by the side. Bowls and bags of frosting were lined up, at the back of the counter, different shades waiting to be used for tree bulbs and snowflake designs. It was a fool-proof work station, and it hit on… _just about_ all of their major points.

Hard work? Oh, yes.

Dedication? Without question.

A want to succeed? Check.

Perfect sugar cookies? Yeah, no. Not. Even. _Close._

Whatever had gone wrong, he couldn't say. Santa's faces were drooping, and Rudolph... Well, even his red nose had fallen off. The trees were passable, but, the green had still managed to leak over the edges, and onto the parchment paper. (They hadn’t even bothered to put the ‘bulbs’ on). The other colours had bled into the green, and the paper was becoming a brown, sloppy mess. It was enough to give any bright-eyed child nightmares. Disgusting. Horrifying.

Oh, what would James think?

Oswald inhaled, sharply, his eyes going wide. Oh, no. _James._ James was due home at any minute! Oh, they couldn't let him see these cookies. They had managed to keep the kitchen somewhat tidy, cleaning up, between steps, but... _These cookies..._ He'd laugh. Or, worse, he wouldn't. He'd _try_ not to laugh, and still end up hurting Selina's feelings. (It would hurt Oswald's, too, but, not quite as badly). Even if it wasn’t intentional, he couldn't allow that to happen.

"We have to get rid of these," he rushed, gesturing a hand toward the colorful, dripping disasters. "Before James sees them."

Selina blinked. "They're just cookies, though," she insisted, even as she began easing the entire piece of parchment paper - cookies, and all - back onto the baking sheet. "We can just bake new ones!"

The idea caused an unpleasant shiver to pass over Oswald. "If I never see another cookie, again, after this," he cautioned, "It will be too soon. Now, where can we stash these?"

Selina shrugged. "The oven's got three more trays, still cooking... And, I don't think there's room, under the sink."

Damn, she was right. Sarcastic, though she was, she was one hundred percent correct. Where the hell could they- _Ah-ha!_ Oswald snapped his fingers, suddenly, startling Selina, a bit. "Dishwasher," he urged, pointing to the appliance with a triumphant sense of finality.

Selina looked affronted. "I'm not stuffing melting frosting in the dishwasher!" she argued, throwing her hands in the air. "Can you imagine the mess that will make?"

"Selina, there's no time to argue," Oswald replied, shaking his head. "If Jim comes in here, and sees this, we're done for! We can't have him laughing. He'll see every holiday task we take on as a complete failure. I can't let that happen. I just can't!"

"Oswald!" Selina shouted, grabbing the near-hysterical Oswald by the shoulders. "Look at me!" It took a few seconds, but, Oswald finally calmed down, enough, to look the young girl in the eyes. Selina stared back at him, serious, her voice level. "Oswald Cobblepot, you are a career criminal," she reminded him. "A crime _lord._ You've built an empire, with money, power, and loyal supporters." Oswald nodded, slowly, unable to argue her. "But, man... If you can't handle the disposal of a couple of _cookies?_ "

_Shit._ There it was. Right there, right in front of him. He was a feared leader of men (men of questionable morals, but, still), standing in the middle of his own kitchen, worried about _baked goods?_ "Oh, dear," he murmured, nodding his head, once more. "Selina, you are right." She let go of his shoulders, and Oswald stood as tall as he could manage. "Panic will get us nowhere. We need to be level-headed, about this. We need organization. We need a plan. We need-"

"Oh, something smells good, in here!"

_-A prayer._ Both parties froze, hearing James' voice floating through, from the front door. Oh, no, how was he home? There were supposed to be at least a few more minutes before he was due in. Turning to face the kitchen entryway, Oswald held his breath, as James slowly entered the room, jacket off, and a smile on his face. He turned that smile to both Oswald and Selina (both of whom were frozen, stiff), before seeking out the source of his attraction.

"Ah, cookies." That was all he said, before reaching out, and nabbing a particularly sad-looking tree. The runny icing immediately stuck to James’ fingertips, the sight of which caused Oswald to cringe. Raising the offending thing to his mouth, James took a big bite, chewed, and grinned. "Mm, good!" he declared, turning back around, to go back the way he came.

Oswald and Selina held position, tense, until James was out of sight. They shared a look, before each let out a held breath. Oswald opened his mouth, to make a comment, when James poked his head back around the corner.

"Hey, guys, that was delicious," he commended, licking the fingers of his messed hand. Oswald raised his eyebrows, in surprise, noting the lack of cookie in the man’s possession. (He was, however, reaching toward the counter, with enough confidence to make the Grinch proud, to sneak another cookie from the tray). "But, if you wanna' decorate 'em, you might want to wait until they cool off." He smiled, warmly. "Otherwise, you’ll just melt the frosting."

Again, as James disappeared, with his second treat, Oswald and Selina shared another shocked look... Before looking away from one another, and shaking it off, quietly. Slowly, they moved back toward the counter, and their project.

"You worried, over that?" Selina asked, reaching for a clean bowl, to mix up another shade of frosting. She sounded confident, but, her voice still held the faintest, unsure waiver. Embarrassed. "Come on. Like Jim would be negative, when we put in all this effort."

"Says the one who was holding her breath, right beside me, the whole time," Oswald teased, breaking the arm off of a Santa, and popping it into his mouth. He sampled the treat, and-Oh, James was right. The thing was still quite warm.

Selina shrugged. "Well, at least we know what went wrong," she agreed, watching as Oswald tried their cookies. She couldn't help but smile. "How is it, really?"

The smile was infectious, as Oswald’s own mirrored hers. "You know? I think they're just perfect."

To that, Selina rolled her eyes. "The holidays make you such a sappy dork."


End file.
